Close your eyes before you sleep (by Walking_dreams)

2.

The next day Louis gets up at half past 4. He's groggy and disoriented, but the hot shower helps, and he needs the time to style his hair and mold his thighs into black skinny jeans. He hesitates on the shirt—his work allows them to wear either a polo or button-up version with their company's logo—and eventually goes with the button-up, rolling the sleeves past his forearms. The sky is just beginning to lighten as he begins his walk to work, and the fact that he isn't cold indicates that it will be blazingly hot later in the day.

Working the opening shift at the coffeehouse is usually a test of willpower, as he usually doesn't wake up until halfway into his shift. Today, though, he is almost wired, though he hasn't had any caffeine so far. He sets up the register, organizes the chairs, and begins making himself some tea in record time. Then he waits.

An hour into his shift, the morning rush begins and his coworker joins him, looking as disheveled and unhappy as he normally would at 7 in the morning. Time flies a little faster once he's no longer alone in the shop, but he still checks the clock above the register entirely too often. Eventually, the rush starts to die a little, and it's at the point where he would normally take his break. He hesitates with removing his apron—what if Harry is too busy to come, or forgets? His coworker is shooting him weird glances, like she knows how he's spending entirely too much energy fretting about a near stranger visiting him at work. Then the little bell chimes as the door to the coffeehouse swings open, and gangly, curly-haired Harry is in the doorframe.

Louis checks him out, not subtle at all. He's again dressed in dark skinny jeans that look as though they've been painted on him, this time paired with a dark button-up that's unbuttoned to his sternum. Louis is entranced by the V of his chest displayed, feeling his eyes glued to that spot. His curls are held back by a bandana, and he's tucking a pair of sleek sunglasses up over his head—he looks entirely too cool for a coffeehouse. He looks like he should be a rock star, or at the very least, in the center of a mosh pit.

"Hey," Louis offers, drawing out the word. "Back again, I see." He tries to sound collected.

"I'm a sucker for good tea," Harry says back, smirking at him in such a way that says that it's not, in fact, the tea that brought him back. "And I'll have a medium passion fruit tea, iced." He slips a small wallet out of his back pocket as he speaks.

"Of course," Louis says, taking his money and counting out change from the register. The bell at the front chimes again, and he shoots his coworker a look that clearly says she is the one handling the next customer. He's going on break. After Harry's drink, obviously.

He makes the tea in record time, moving with efficiency he usually reserves for those mornings that he wakes up after his shift is supposed to start. "A passion fruit tea for lovely Harry," he announces, setting the drink on the counter. His heart is pounding as Harry approaches, smiling at him.

Harry opens his mouth, but Louis beats him to it. "You have to be anywhere? I'm on break, and it's always better to drink tea in company," he says casually.

Harry shakes his head, laughing. "I'd love the company."

Louis has shed his apron and cleared the counter before Harry has time to reconsider. Another customer makes a scandalized noise—probably at seeing an employee place his bum on the counter while climbing over it—but he completely ignores it. "Excellent. Right this way, then." He mock bows, and feels ridiculously pleased with himself when it earns him another laugh.

They sit around a small table in the corner of the coffeehouse. For a few seconds neither of them say anything, until Harry takes a sip of his tea and then laughs suddenly.

"Your coworker looks like she's going to murder you," he tells Louis, and then takes another sip.

"She may," Louis concedes, glancing over at the register. She does look pretty annoyed. "But I think I can handle her. She's still in training, and they don't show you the bagel knives until the fifth day."

Harry laughs again. That's the fourth time. Louis feels his face getting warm.

"Maybe boiling water, then," Harry suggests slyly. "Or whipped cream. She could smother you."

"You're putting an awful lot of thought into the ways to kill someone in a coffeehouse."

Laugh number five. Maybe he isn't as out of practice with flirting as he thought.

"I promise, I'm not planning on killing you." The way Harry is giggling somewhat ruins his credibility.

"What are you planning on doing to me, then?" Wait, shit. He didn't mean for it to sound like that. He can feel himself blushing.

Harry's smirking at him—his panic is probably clear as day on his face. "Haven't quite decided, yet." He sips his drink. Louis stares at his mouth, heart pounding.

It's all downhill from there. Or uphill, depending on your point of view.